


What You Like

by madame_d



Category: NSYNC, Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-28
Updated: 2004-08-28
Packaged: 2017-10-19 01:10:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madame_d/pseuds/madame_d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris was stuck with JC, who had shown up and said, "Hey, cat, what are you doing the next few days? It's New Year's soon." And Chris just shrugged and said, "Getting drunk?"  JC and Chris spent 2003 New Year's Eve together.  For real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What You Like

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks, as always, to jewelianna for the beta, and to geneli4 for loving run-on sentences.

In retrospect, JC thought that he should've known it would be a very bad idea, and it was surprising that it had originated from him. Chris had an excuse; he was drunk, of course he was, it was New Year's. They'd all been spending Christmas with their families, and then, Lance, Justin, and Joey flew off to celebrate New Year's with their significant others, so Chris was stuck with JC, who had shown up and said, "Hey, cat, what are you doing the next few days? It's New Year's soon." And Chris just shrugged and said, "Getting drunk?"

JC's presence didn't really put a stop to _that_ plan, so Chris was sprawled on the couch, drunk and stupid with it, because he was always stupid when drunk, and JC was only slightly tipsy, too much champagne and bubbles but not enough actual alcohol, unlike Chris, who started downing vodka cocktails at eight in the evening. They'd been partying, and drinking, and dancing, and posing for photo-ops, and drinking more for the past four days, and JC's head was spinning trying to remember all he'd done. He remembered seeing Robb at every single function, and glimpsing Nick and Paris at some party or other, and them looking blindingly blond, smashingly drunk, and equally haughty when he'd bumped into them.

So, it was New Year's, they were back from parties, and it was past three in the morning of the shiny-and-new year, and they were watching some stupid British made-for-TV movie, one of those that wasn't edited for kiddie ears in which all swears had been replaced with 'darn's and 'shoot's, but instead, this was the full version, filled with 'fuck me's and 'bite me's and 'blow me's and 'sod off's. And Chris had been trying them on for size, rolling unfamiliar British curses off his tongue in an atrocious imitation of the accent, and when he finally said, with more attitude than skill, "Oh blow me!" JC was on his knees before he even had time to process.

It wasn't like it was new, like it was the first time, 'it' being 'blowing guys' (because hello, he was that gay), and not 'servicing unsuspecting but much beloved bandmates,' by the way, because there were those times with Joey, but it wasn't 'servicing.' It was sex and it was fun, and Joey wasn't drunk or unsuspecting, but had initiated it all in the first place, kissing the soft spot behind JC's ear the night of the first Celebrity concert. And the fucker had known that JC would turn into pliant mush from that one little kiss because he knew, through TMI-sharing, that it was the most sensitive place on JC's entire body, not counting his dick, of course, but that was another story.

So here JC was, on his knees between Chris' indecently wide-spread thighs, his palms cupping Chris' kneecaps, and looking at Chris from under his lashes. And Chris said, "Oh _fuck_ , C," and leaned forward slowly, afraid to lose his balance, because he was that drunk, and tangled his hand in JC's curls and drew his head forward.

And JC really had to have known better, because drunk sex could lead to so many _very_ bad things but this was Chris, and JC maybe wanted this for a while, and maybe it was a better idea that Chris was that drunk and JC wasn't at all because hopefully, Chris wouldn't remember any of this in the morning but JC would have his one night.

"Chris?" He said tentatively, and Chris sighed and wiggled down, almost horizontal on the seat, with his head propped up by the back of the couch, his hips at a very accommodating level for JC.

JC thought that maybe Chris wasn't aware of what he was doing, but he wasn't going to refuse the invitation, so he put one hand on Chris' hip and slowly undid the button-fly with the other. Chris was nowhere near hard, too much alcohol in his system, but he wasn't completely flaccid either, just nicely plump and at half-mast, so JC leaned down and took a tentative lick. When Chris didn't scream in horror, just sighed and arched his neck, JC continued.

There were obscene slurps from JC, who was drooling with greed, and breathy sighs from Chris, who kept wiggling and thrusting upwards until JC put his hands on Chris' hips and nixed that one in the bud, and hums and moans from JC because Chris' dick felt absolutely divine on his tongue and he couldn't get enough of it.

And then, Chris fell asleep in the middle of it, more like passed out, really, and JC was absolutely mortified.

JC knew his technique was good, better than good; he's had a lot of practice and a lot of experience, so he knew he was really good, so it was really beyond insulting that Chris was less than excited, no pun intended, to be blown by the Spectacular Chasez. JC rolled back onto his haunches and glared at Chris' limp dick, just hanging there, wrinkled and glistening with JC's saliva, and carefully _not_ thought that maybe he brought this on himself because he really should've known better than starting something with a stupid drunk.

JC sighed, straightened up, and shook it off, and rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth, which felt stretched and tender and well-used, despite the fact that it hadn't been used for that long at all. He tucked Chris back in, turned his legs around so that Chris was lying semi-comfortably on the sofa, if such a thing were possible, and went to search for a quilt, or an afghan, or something with which to cover up his stupid and sleeping bandmate.

He found it in the dresser in Chris' bedroom, tucked between sweatshirts - an old maroon fleece throw with bright-pink initials "JSC" embroidered in one corner. JC thought he'd lost it years ago, left it in one of the hotels, or on the bus; he hadn't seen it since before the first US tour. His mom gave it to him when they left for Europe, and JC wasn't a girl about such things, so he wasn't as emotionally attached to it as Justin was to _his_ baby-blue blanket, but it was soft and fuzzy and really nice to use as a throw _or_ a pillow. JC had mourned its loss, and the need to spend money on a new one, until Lance rolled his eyes and asked which size JC wanted, and the next thing he knew, there was a brand-new red fleece throw in his bunk, magically begotten through Lance's super-powers, obviously, since they were big enough in the US already to not be able to go shopping on their own, or even with security, during regular store business hours.

The new throw was eventually stolen by Joey for Briahna, because it was super-soft after numerous washings and just perfect for covering up a tiny baby girl.

And yet, here was his old one, not lost at all, but taken by Chris, and taken secretively because since they weren't too attached to material things, particularly living on the bus and out of suitcases, all things but underwear and JC's socks were fair game. Technically, Chris shouldn't have been sneaky about making off with JC's blanket; he could've had it had he just asked.

And maybe, just maybe, JC _was_ that drunk by now, bubbles having gotten to him, because thinking about Chris with JC's blanket was making JC dizzy and loopy. He grabbed the throw, draped it over Chris' sprawled form on the couch, and stumbled off into the guest bedroom he'd taken over.

The morning after, and JC was really unwilling to open his eyes to the brain-churning headache that threatened to overwhelm at the slightest provocation. And it's not like he was _that_ drunk last night; he wasn't, but it was the damn sneaky bubbles that got him every time, all gentle and teasing at his nose until he forgot that champagne gave him a killer headache the next morning, and indulged freely.

So here he was, almost whimpering with the pain and unfairness of it all, and not wanting to face the day because the world was being mean to him. Suddenly, a palm cupping two Excedrin pills appeared under his nose, and when he took them, the hand came back with a glass of water. JC swallowed his pills and wondered what to say to Chris. And how to look him in the eye. He avoided both by scooting off the bed, a hand pressed to his lower belly, which would tell Chris that JC either had to pee or to puke, and stumbled off into the bathroom. He peed and washed his hands, then brushed his teeth, and attempted to tame his curls into some semblance of non-'fro. The curls wiggled and stuck themselves out at even crazier angles, so JC decided to leave them alone.

When he got back into the bedroom, and wondered, again, how to talk to Chris, looking Chris in the eye turned out to be easier, because Chris approached JC where he was half-lounging against the wall, put a gentle hand on his cheek, thumb stroking softly, and turned JC's face until he was eye to eye with Chris. And then, Chris said, "C. I'm sorry about last night," and before JC could open his mouth to ask which _part_ of last night he was apologizing for, Chris was kissing him, and there was no softness in the kiss, just raw hunger and pure lust.

They stumbled to the bed, JC's hands clumsy in their hurry to divest Chris of his silly t-shirt, which simply refused to come off, the process made more challenging due to the fact that Chris had both hands down JC's pyjama bottoms, slowly jacking him off with one hand, and kneading his ass with the other. The shirt finally popped off, and they fell down onto the bed, Chris nibbling on JC's neck in the most delicious manner, and then he… stopped.

"Chris? Are you falling asleep again? Because I know you're not a young man any more, but in that case, you shouldn't start what you can't finish, you fucking cocktease!"

In retaliation, Chris tweaked JC's nipple, then bent down to lick it apologetically when JC squeak-moaned with pain.

"I'm not that old. In fact, Chasez, I'm only 5 years older than you. I'm willing," he ground against JC, and yeah, okay, he was very willing, "and virile, and rearin' to go."

JC arched up against him, already panting, and so _wanting,_ and breathed out, "Chris, my pants, take off my damn pants." Chris complied and JC wondered, slightly panicky, if Chris had supplies in the guest room because there was no way JC could wait for him to get them from elsewhere.

And then, Chris was leaning over and reaching into the bedside table, trying to snag condoms while JC licked at his neck and caressed his dick with long, confident strokes. It might've taken a few minutes, but finally, they were equipped, condoms were used and lube applied, and Chris was slowly sinking onto JC's dick, his face relaxed and almost blissed-out. And JC thought that if Chris decided to fall asleep then and there, JC would just have to fuck his unconscious body because there was no way he was stopping.

Chris paused when JC was all the way in, and JC dug his fingers into Chris' fleshy ass, hissing, "Chris, wake up! Don't you dare fall asleep on me, Kirkpatrick!"

Chris opened his eyes and started laughing. And yeah, okay, it _was_ sort of funny, except that in a way, it wasn't, because Chris had set a precedent for falling asleep in the middle of sex, and there wasn't any guarantee that he wouldn't do it again. Despite his age, however, Chris managed to stay awake throughout the entire session, collapsing onto JC's chest in post-orgasmic exhaustion, boneless and sweat-slick and snuggly.

They shifted a little because while JC was no fragile damsel, he was nowhere near as solid as Chris, and while he did enjoy Chris sleeping on him and pushing him into the mattress, there was breathing to consider. As in, impossible to do when one had Chris sprawled out bonelessly on one's chest. So they moved a bit, Chris next to JC, an arm and a leg wrapped securely around JC's body to make sure he didn't escape. JC rubbed his knuckles over Chris' phoenix tattoo and was just about to fall asleep when he remembered a very important and pressing issue.

He had to poke Chris awake because Chris was already well on his way to Dreamland, and though Chris wasn't appreciative of being poked, JC managed to soothe him with promises of rimming later, so he deigned open his eyes, and stared blearily at JC.

"Whatcha want, Chasez? I can't believe the rumours were true, and that you _don't_ sleep after sex. Doesn't the sex exhaust you or something?"

"No. Chris... I mean, yes, it does, but Chris, what are you doing with my blankie?"

"Your 'blankie'? What are you, five?" Though JC couldn't see the finger-quotes, he was sure they were present. Chris' tone implied them.

"Justin had Mr. Blankie until he started dating Cameron," JC huffed. "Shut up. That's not the point…" JC trailed off because Chris was running his hand up and down JC's arm, fingertips almost tickling but not quite. And it felt really good and also, sleep-inducing, and maybe he could take a nap and then get back to —

"Chris! The point is that _you_ have _my_ blankie--ket! Blanket!"

Chris laughed, but that could've been an automatic reaction, because Chris had managed to steal past JC's vigilant glance, and go back to Dreamland after sneakily distracting JC, while JC was pondering naps and the feel-good power of caresses. Still, though, like a good little boybander who'd been taught to always answer questions, Chris mumbled into his pillow.

"Mmmm, yes, I do. It's soft and fuzzy and I like it. Do you mind?"

"But. But _why_ do you have my blanket, Chris? I mean... I thought I'd lost it, and now it turns out that you have it. If you wanted it so badly, you could've just asked."

JC heard Chris sigh deeply; probably thinking that he wouldn't get any sleep until he answered JC's questions. And that JC was probably annoying, and not worth having sex with again. That thought was too mollifying, and JC was almost ready to let the matter drop and tell Chris to forget all about it, when Chris rolled onto his side and faced JC.

"I did ask, you ass. Your memory is worse than Lance's. Remember? We were in the middle of nowhere, and I was dying from that fucking weird-ass virus-thing from hell, and you let me use it, and after, I asked if I could keep it and you said, 'Oh sure, honey' and gave it to me."

"I don't sound like that," JC said in a small voice.

"Uh-uh, of course you don't," Chris said, looking like he was ready to go back to sleep, and JC dared poke him. At the last minute, though, he changed his mind, and petted Chris' arm, instead.

"But. Chris. Actually, I don't remember you asking. And. Why did you want to keep it?"

Chris opened one eye and looked at him. "JC? Can you _please_ go to sleep? Or let _me_ sleep? It was nice, it was soft, it was yours, and it got you into my bed, though a few years late."

"Oh." JC blinked and thought about _that_ statement. "Better late than never?" JC said, and Chris snorted in response.

Drowsy, JC decided to postpone the conversation until both he and Chris were awake. Maybe a little later because they'd probably be wanting to have sex again once they were awake, and he did promise to rim Chris at some point, so not as soon as they were, but when they were awake and not horny. Or maybe over dinner. Or really, sometime whenever because JC had been doing fine without his blanket for all these years, and frankly, the idea of Chris having it made his heart all aflutter.

JC wiggled his toes, curled into Chris' warm body, and closed his eyes. Despite the fact that it was only ten in the morning. Or maybe eleven. JC thought it was probably closer to lunch-time, actually, since the sex took up quite some time. Then, Chris rubbed his cold nose against JC's shoulder, and told him to be quiet and go to sleep already, and JC happily complied.


End file.
